Sherlock Holmes and The Incredible Hulk
by MaryChristmas
Summary: SH22-While Lestrade attends her brother's funeral and gets caught up in a strange new mystery, Watson and the Irregulars notice an unsual change in Holmes' behavior...Chapter six up now
1. One

**Sherlock Holmes and The Incredible Hulk**

Disclaimer: I don't own the shows or characters taken from said shows that are used in this fic. 

Summary: You know me, I don't want to give away any possible plot twists. :P Glances at title er, well…:P 

A/N: Right, so I kind of hate Sci Fi right now. Why? Because it made me watch the Incredible Hulk for the last week. Okay so it didn't exactly _make_ me. I do have free will after all. I think. Anyway, I got this really great (or not so great depending on your point of view) idea. And so this story was born. It's the 1970's version of the Hulk, with that annoying, yet surprisingly cute reporter dude. I just…you know used my artistic license and pretended that everything happened in the 22nd century instead of the twentieth. Oh yes, and for those of you who have actually seen it, it takes place right before the funeral. Okay, now that I've rambled on and on and on and on…here's the first chapter!! 

**Chapter One **

Beth Lestrade adjusted the trim on the collar of her new-age trench coat as she waited outside her apartment for a cab. It was constantly getting in her mouth. How on earth did Holmes stand that Inverness-which was considerably bulkier-of his? Of course, everything was exponentially more irritating to her this morning. The fact that she had called the taxi company only ten minutes ago and they still hadn't arrived, that it was raining and that she had to go on this trip at all rankled. 

She palmed open her wrist com and scanned through the messages until she found the one she was looking for. Not that she needed to have bothered. She knew it by memory now. 

> "Ms. Beth Lestrade, it is my unpleasant duty to inform you that your brother, Doctor David Bruce Banner has been killed. The funeral will take place on Thursday, September 11. Thank you for using InstaGram Messaging. With InstaGram Messaging you get all the convenience without all the hassle."

That was it. No explanations. She glared at the offending thing. Surely someone could have sent her a more personal message. Then she sighed. Of course they wouldn't have wanted to do that, and she could understand their reluctance. She knew she wasn't really angry with them, David's colleagues, but she needed something to take her anger out on. And since he was dead, she couldn't very well focus it on the cause. No, that wasn't fair either. 

Besides, she didn't even know the cause of his death. She was just assuming that he had finally given up after his wife's death nearly a year ago. David had always felt guilty over that, insisting that he should have been able to save her, that people did it all the time. That was when he started his research, and when the two of them drifted apart. 

Sherlock Holmes, however, had always said not to base conclusions on assumptions. And David wasn't really the suicidal type. Gung Ho, yes. But not suicidal. So, Beth Lestrade was going not only for David's funeral, but to find out exactly what had happened. 

"Holmes'll be so proud of me," she muttered sarcastically just as the cab pulled up. 

She hopped inside and instructed the driver to take her to the airport. Normally, she'd have taken her cruiser but this time she didn't want her badge to get in the way. People nowadays told more to a citizen than to a cop. 

Watson hummed softly to himself as he baked. He so enjoyed cooking. It was one of his few pleasures, besides writing and accompanying Holmes on a case. Being a robot, there were certain things he couldn't experience, but he never let that stop him. While his programming told him that he had once been different, he couldn't actually _remember_ anything of that time, "Before Holmes", as Lestrade liked to call it. 

"Something certainly smells delightful, Watson," Holmes' familiar voice rang out from the doorway of the kitchen, "Tell the Irregulars when they get here to meet me at the First Multi-National Bank of New London. I have something for them to do." 

Watson turned to face the detective, unable to keep the surprise from his tone. "But Holmes, how did you know? They weren't supposed to be here this afternoon. Wiggins only called twenty minutes ago and you were out." 

Holmes smirked. "Simple Watson. You only bake that particular type of biscuit when the Irregulars are over because Diedre is allergic to almost everything else." 

Watson couldn't help but blush. It was rather absurdly simple. "Yes well, I'll be sure to tell them. I suppose that was Inspector Lestrade who just called?" 

"No," And Holmes inexplicably pouted, "Apparently she's on family leave. It was Inspector Hawkins." 

"I see, I do hope she's all right." 

"Well of course she is," Holmes muttered rather irritably, "Now I've got to go. Who knows how those bumbling idiots from the Yard have ruined any good evidence." And with that he stalked out. 

Watson watched him leave and shook his head. While he knew from the journals of his predecessor that Holmes could behave in such a manner, he hadn't really noticed much of that since the detective had accepted him as thinking and feeling being rather than a machine. He shrugged and continued his preparations. The kids would be there soon, and he suspected they'd need all the sustenance they could get. 

Lestrade muttered under her breath as she waited for Doctor Ben-Something-Or-Other to come out and speak with her. It wasn't surprising that she hadn't heard of him, given that she hadn't spoken with her brother for nearly a year, but that he hadn't known of her until someone tried to locate family and friends of the deceased hurt. A lot. Especially since this man was supposedly a good friend of David's. And of Elena Marx, the other scientist who had been killed. 

Murdered. That much she had gotten, only it was from some sensationalist reporter who claimed that it was a big green monster that had done the deed. So, she wasn't even sure if that was the truth. It seemed more like it was an accident to her. The lab had exploded. That tended to happen when dangerous chemicals were mixed. She needed to talk to this Ben guy, find out what he knew, what he thought had happened. What her brother and Doctor Marx had been working on at the time… 

"I'm sorry Miss Lestrade," the snotty receptionist at the desk finally said, "But he's at his friends' funeral right now, you'll have to come back some other time." 

Lestrade blinked. Just how many people had died that this guy knew? "I thought David Banner's funeral was supposed to be for the eleventh." 

"It was," the receptionist responded in a bored tone, "But they moved it up to today hoping that reporter wouldn't find out about it." 

"Zed!" 

Lestrade ran out of the building and, luckily enough, grabbed a cab that was waiting just out front. 

"Sorry lady but…Oh you're Banner's sister. Lestade or something?" 

Lestrade glared at the sleazy reporter. "Lestrade. What the zed do you want?" 

"I just found out that…" 

"I don't care. Look, driver could you take us to the cemetery. That way Mister McDonald here can get his wonderful story about a dead guy's sister mourning." 

"It's McGee." The guy had the nerve to look hurt. "And I wanted to go to the funeral so I could question…" 

"Their friend about what experiments they were working on when the accident happened," Lestrade finished for him, disgusted. 

McGee sighed. "I told you, it wasn't an accident. I saw that, that…Thing. It was carrying Dr. Marx when it came out of the building. We found her dead a little ways away in the woods. She had been crushed to death." 

Lestrade frowned. He hadn't told her that before. "And no one ever found my brother's body?" 

The reporter hesitated before nodding. "Right. I truly am sorry for your loss. But I am a reporter and…" 

"And the story is the most important thing. Fine." Lestrade fell silent and gazed out the window, brooding. She still wasn't sure. Something didn't add up, but she was mostly going on gut instinct. 

"I already know what Banner and Marx were working on," McGee said softly. 

"What?" 

"I was snooping around," he shrugged lightly, "And I overheard them talking. That hulking Thing was a result of one their experiments. And they were terrified of it. It had crushed a titanium metal chamber. I saw the results myself. It must have escaped, because they were afraid it might return. They were talking about moving their research to another location." 

"I…see…" Lestrade turned back to the window. It certainly made sense, and the cop in her told her to let it rest at that and go after the thing McGee said he had seen. However, something still didn't seem right. Like why hadn't her brother's body been found? And if the Hulk, as McGee called it, had carried it off, then why hadn't Elena Marx's? She shook her head, and wished suddenly that Holmes were here. He'd be able to make some sense of it all. 

When they had landed at the burial site, Lestrade stood off by herself while McGee spoke with Dr. Ben. She really wanted to speak with him herself, but she could wait. She walked over to stand just behind a tree that overlooked the graves when McGee and Ben left, and leaned back against it. David had always been there for her. Even though he was only her step-brother, he cared about her, and for her even when his mother and her father had died in an accident. 

And now he too, was gone. 

The rustle of grass nearby interrupted her maudlin thoughts. _Probably someone else David or Dr. Marx knew_, she thought. Still, she couldn't help but be curious and peeked around the tree and received a shock. 

It was David. She fought the urge to jump out and grab him by the coat and shake him senseless, and instead watched him. He stood looking at the side-by-side graves, a look of immeasurable sadness, weariness and determination all warring for dominance on his face. Then he turned and began walking away. 

Being who she was, and what she was, Beth decided to follow him. 

(to be continued…) Well? How'd you like it? Should I continue? Is this a rhetorical question? Who knows?


	2. Two

Sherlock Holmes and the Incredible Hulk

  
  
**Chapter Two**

David Banner closed his eyes and rested as the hover-truck full of chickens made its way south of Sacramento. While he had enough creds to take a transport, he didn't know exactly where he was going and there were few job prospects for someone with basic identification. He needed to make what he had withdrawn last as long as could, because he certainly couldn't take any more. He had been pushing it as it was. Hopefully though, his bank in New London would think it was just a robbery or a systems error. That's why had waited so long to get it. 

A sigh escaped him. Even if he could find a way to cure the mutation, a way to stop that creature from ever reappearing, he'd still have to remain in hiding. At least he'd be able to stay in one place though, without fear of the creature. He could start over, begin anew. Either way, his life as he knew it was over. 

He'd never be able to see Beth again, to apologize to her. 

He smiled sadly. He could almost hear her speaking, telling him, "I told you so." His little sister could be so exasperating sometimes, but he loved her. If only he hadn't let his anger and frustration at Carol's death and his own inability to save her overcome his good sense. No, instead he'd let it create a monster. Literally. 

All he had wanted was an explanation. Something to absolve the guilt. Now, Elena was dead too, even if it wasn't exactly his fault. The explosion was an accident. She wouldn't have been there, however, if he hadn't taken an overdose of gamma radiation, if she hadn't been trying to help him find a cure. 

_Stop feeling sorry for yourself, David. What's past is passed,_ he thought to himself. Depression certainly wasn't going to help him. 

The hover-truck abruptly came to a halt, and David had to grab on to the dash in front of him to keep from being thrown forward. 

"Sorry fella," the old man who was driving said, "but I forgot somethin' back at the ranch I came from. I gotta let you out here." 

"That's all right," David said with a smile, "Thank you for the ride." 

The old man nodded and landed the truck. David got out and waved as the truck took off once more. Almost immediately a hover-car-a rental by looks of the tags-landed nearby. David tensed. Was it that reporter? Had he somehow figured out what was going on and had followed? The passenger side door opened, and he cautiously peered inside. The pilot was a young woman with bright red hair sitting in the driver's seat, and he sighed in relief. 

"Hey Mister? You need a ride?" Her voice was strangely accented. 

David nodded and walked closer. "Where are you headed?" 

"Where you looking to go?" the red head responded. 

"Not sure. I'm just looking for some work." 

The woman nodded sagely. "Well, c'mon, get in. I gotta get to San Francisco for a convention, but I know a small town between here and there where you could get something. Don't pay much, but then I don't expect you care much." She cackled. 

"You're right," David agreed as he slid into the seat, "I don't care much." He smiled wearily and settled back for the ride. 

Beth glanced surreptitiously at her passenger. He seemed to be lost in thought, so she decided not to bother him. She had followed him from the small town just north of Sacramento that had been home to the laboratory that had exploded. She had switched cars in the state capitol when he had stopped at a bank and found a used costume shop that carried the garish wig she was now wearing. 

She was now glad that she had, since she hadn't planned on meeting with him so soon. She had hoped to have a little more time to come up with a reasonable (reasonable as in non-threatening) argument as to why she should be let in on whatever was going on with him before confronting him. Since she didn't yet, she'd settle for keeping him within reach. 

"So, where are you from, exactly?" David asked. 

The question startled her, and she glanced over at him. Putting on a cheesy grin, she said, "New London. Been living there since I was fifteen." 

"Ah, that would explain your accent then." He smiled brightly, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. That was her big brother, always friendly even to total strangers. 

"I'm Irene Norton, by the way," she said with a perfectly straight face. While she had been obsessed with Sherlock Holmes, David had merely tolerated it. 

"Nice to meet you Irene. I'm David Bannister." 

Once again, they settled into a comfortable silence. It reminded Beth of a much earlier time, when the two of them were working on much different things, both lost in thought. A time when David had trusted her with all his secrets, just as she had trusted him with hers. A time when the two of them had been so close they knew pretty much what the other was thinking. 

Of course, she had been the first to break that pattern, when she had decided to move to New London and become a cop. He hadn't approved, but he had moved with her and gotten a job with a New London chemical company. Then, when she had achieved her goal, he had moved back to the states to marry his old high school sweet-heart. Things had never really been the same between them. 

Watson smiled at Deidre as the girl chattered on about the things they were going to get to see in the States once they got there. Wiggins and Tennyson were doing their level best to ignore her by playing a card game. The older boy was doing surprisingly well against the genius. 

They were on a case, though Holmes hadn't said much about it. The detective had been in a peculiar mood all day. And it seemed to get worse after he had quickly solved the bank robbery. Now another case had been presented and Holmes refused to tell any of them what it was, or even how he had come by it. 

"It's because the Inspector's gone," Deidre said sagely. 

"What?" Watson hadn't been paying much attention, but this caught his, "What are you talking about?" 

"The reason Mister 'olmes is in such a bad mood," the girl whispered, "is because Inspector Lestrade ain't around. 'e's sweet on 'er you know." 

Watson, in the act of denying this, found himself thinking. Holmes' mood had seemed to change once he had found out Lestrade had taken a rare leave. He nodded. "However, that does not mean he is 'sweet' on her, as you put it. Why, he would be as concerned about you if you suddenly did something you weren't prone to." 

Deidre smiled knowingly. "Whatever you say Watson. Whatever you say." 


	3. Three

**Sherlock Holmes and the Incredible Hulk**

**Chapter Three:**

"All right," Holmes said lightly once everyone had settled into their respective rooms at a small inn in a town just outside of San Francisco and were now in a private lobby, "Now that we're here, I'm only going to say this once. Have fun!" He beamed at each of them. 

When no one responded, his smile turned into a concerned frown. "We're on vacation, if you hadn't noticed. I had hoped Tennyson at least would have been able to deduce that." He shrugged and grinned. "Well, since you hadn't, this is a surprise and I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Now, I'm off to see the sights." And with that, he left 

Watson smiled reassuringly at the Irregulars after Holmes had left the lobby, even though he was worried himself. The detective was acting stranger than usual. 

"I'm sure everything is just as he said it was," he told them. 

Tennyson immediately chimed in with a rebuttal, "Then why did he say we were on a case?" 

The other two nodded in agreement. "Yeah," Wiggins stated, "I mean, this is weird, even for Holmes." 

"Well," Watson began, then gave up, "You're absolutely right. Holmes isn't acting like himself at all. I do hope nothing's happened to him." 

The four of them were silent for a moment, contemplating what that could mean. Watson, as soon as he had said it, envisioned several things that could be wrong with the detective, not the least of which was some sort of mind control. He shuddered, remembering the last time he'd encountered that tactic. He could still see Lestrade jumping from her balcony, and him being unable to do anything about it. Both his new personality and old programming (a compudroid's primary function was protection of its owner, or in the case of a law enforcer, its partner) had hated that. 

"Or maybe something's 'appened to Inspector Lestrade," Deidre said softly. 

That of course was just as bad. "Well, the only way to know for certain is to find out exactly what's going on," Tennyson beeped, "So, I say we come up with a plan of action." 

"Yeah!" Deidre and Wiggins exclaimed together. 

And so the four of them put their heads together and formulated a plan. Watson was to find out why Lestrade had gone on leave (an invasion of privacy, but it _was_ an emergency) and where she had gone to, Tennyson was going to see exactly what had happened at the First Multi-National Bank of New London (the detective had decided he hadn't needed the Irregulars' help after all) and find out if anything unusual had occurred and Deidre and Wiggins were going to take turns following Holmes around. 

Watson only hoped it wasn't too late. 

David waved at Irene as she let him off at the Blanton Inn in the small town of Blanton, California. She was such a nice lady, and, with her temper, she reminded him of Beth. He grinned to himself. Beth would never in a million years be caught dead in a cheaply died red wig. In fact, if she ever found out that he had compared her to someone… 

His grin faded. She would never find out though. 

Resolutely he pushed the maudlin thought aside and turned to go inside. As he walked up to the desk, he was nearly run over by a tall man wearing an Inverness and Deerstalker cap. David shook his head and smiled wryly. There were all sorts in the world. 

"Terribly sorry my good man," the fellow said with a slight slur to his voice, "but would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?" 

David blinked at him. He couldn't smell any alcohol, but that didn't mean anything. "Well…no…sorry." 

"S'perfectly all right. No need to apologize. My fault entirely," the man said with a cheesy grin. Then he looked over his shoulder and frowned. "Must be going," he muttered and left the building. 

David watched him leave, confusion and amusement warring with each other. He shrugged, turned back to the reception desk and was again almost bowled over, this time by a tall black boy in a sleeveless trench. 

"S'cuse me," the boy said in a rush, "I didn't mean to run into you. Gotta go, bye." And he ran outside as well. 

"Lot's of people in a hurry around here I see," David said to the woman behind the desk. 

Beth hurriedly changed her clothes in the women's restroom at the car rental place in San Francisco. She wanted to get back to Blanton before David decided to up and leave. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced. She had always scorned women who bleached their hair (since an accident in the third grade had resulted in permanent color loss in one section of her hair), and now she had done it. 

Still, it had had to be done. If David recognized her, or even caught scent of her, he would run. Or worse, lie. One of his oh-so-very annoying habits was that he still thought of her as the little eight year old girl with no parents who needed her hand held and who couldn't watch scary movies by herself. She smiled wryly. It was also one of his most endearing traits. Which of course made it all the more annoying. 

After applying some garish makeup, she left the restroom and made her way to the front to get another vehicle. She had the perfect one picked out. It was a convertible. Actually, it wasn't perfect. Convertibles were horrible in air-traffic, but her new character was a rich ditz and didn't care about things like that. It was yellow too. When she finally did confront her brother, he was so going to pay for this. **A/N** This one's a little short, but I felt I needed to leave off here. Thanks everybody for your reviews. :) 


	4. Four

**

Sherlock Holmes and the Incredible Hulk

**  
  
**Chapter Four**

Beth smiled prettily at the woman sitting behind the reception desk and tapped her red lacquered nails against the counter-top. It was her luck that the zedding inn just so happened to have every vacancy filled. There were five zedding rooms! And this wasn't even a tourist town. The only reason she had known about it (and consequently the jobs that people on the run could take) was because Louie, her favorite snitch, had mentioned it (or told her out of terror that he'd become a pancake, whichever you prefer) when she had questioned him on his where-abouts. 

"Honey," she told the woman, whose name happened to be Honey, "I don't think you know who I am…" 

"No ma'am," Honey instantly responded, "I do not, but that has nothing to…" 

"You don't understand. I am Bethany Ross and I…" 

"Look lady," Honey interrupted, her already coarse voice harsher, "There are no rooms to rent! None! That's it. You can come back some other time." 

Lestrade inwardly seethed. She so wanted to pulverize the woman, yet at the same time she could understand her reaction. Bethany Ross, her new made-up character, was—as intended—incredibly annoying. Outwardly, she put on an overly-sly smile. Then she leaned in closer and whispered dramatically. 

"Oh, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. All you have to do is tell them you lost their reservation. They won't be able to do a thing about it." Beth winked. 

Honey screwed up her nose in distaste. "Miss Ross. There. Are. No. Rooms. For. Rent. Do I make myself clear?" 

"Perfectly," Beth sighed. She hadn't really thought it would work, but she had hoped. Now she'd just have to con one of the present patrons of the inn of their room. Or share one. It was possible there was a female or two who wouldn't mind. She turned around and ran smack into something metal. 

"Oh my!" said a familiar voice, "I am terribly sorry Miss. Are you all right?" 

"Wa…what?" she asked, wincing at her near slip. Her heart was beating way faster than it should, and she was mentally cursing to herself. Why the zed did it have to be zedding Watson? Holmes probably wasn't very far behind. The Irregulars either, if she hadn't forgotten how to count. "Oh! You're a robot! How extraordinary!" 

Watson, predictably, blushed. "Well, yes, Miss I am." 

"Oh, I'm Bethany Ross. You may call me Bethany. I have never in my life seen such a marvelous thing! Why your AI circuitry must be incredibly complex." 

"Holochips actually. Pleased to meet you Miss Ross, er Bethany. My name is Watson." The compudroid really did looked pleased, and Beth couldn't help but feel just a little guilty. But she couldn't just come out and say who she was; even if Watson's acting skills were better than they were, Honey was listening raptly. 

"Pleased to meet you too, Watson," Beth simpered, "I do hope we can be friends, at least while I'm here. Of course, I'll have to find a room somewhere…" 

"But this is the only place with rooms to let," Watson said. 

Beth nodded and sighed dramatically. "I know, I know. But apparently all the rooms have been filled already." 

"Well then," Watson said, "If you wouldn't mind sharing, I think Deidre wouldn't mind having a room-mate. I'm sure you could find lots to talk about. She's thirteen by the way." 

Deidre? Beth fought not to groan aloud. Lots to talk about? Well, Bethany Ross might find speaking with Deidre entertaining. To be fair, the girl was smart, but Beth hated matters of clothing, hair, nails, et cetera. She didn't wear her uniform almost all the time for no reason. It was nice and simple. You get up in the morning, throw on your uniform and 'ta da!' you were all ready for the day. 

"As long as she doesn't mind, I certainly don't, Watson," Beth acquiesced, "I find I have a great touch with teenagers. Lead the way?" 

"Certainly!" Watson exclaimed and took her arm in a chivalrous manner. 

They chattered on amicably with Beth making up her reasons for being in Blanton as she walked. Good thing it was Watson and not Holmes. In the process she found out a few things about what they were all doing in the small town. Vacation? That didn't sound like Holmes. But why would he lie to Watson and the Irregulars? Something was up, and it wasn't welcome on top of her brother's mystery. 

At least she knew he was here. She had seen his signature—well, David Bannister's signature anyway— in the ledger when she had leaned over the desk earlier. 

When they got to the room Deidre was in, Watson courteously knocked on the door. At a mumbled, 'come in,' he pressed the door panel and it slid open revealing a room that was surprisingly clean for having a teenaged occupant. The girl was talking on her hand-held vid-phone—or rather whispering. She looked up when they entered and frowned. 

" 'ey Watson. 'oo's your friend?" 

"This is Miss Bethany Ross. She's here on a business trip, but all the rooms have been let. We were wondering if…" 

"Sure!" Deidre said excitedly, "I could use the company." Then she frowned. "But what about…" 

Watson waved her to silence. "I'm sure Wiggins and Tennyson will get over the fact that you have a room-mate and they don't. If not, I shall happily share with either of them rather than Holmes. He can be rather dour." 

Beth, while pretending to study her nails, felt a chill go down her spine. Now she knew something was up. Zed! Why did Holmes go and get himself into these sorts of things. Whatever this one was. 

"Okay Beth. Do you mind if I call you Beth? Good, come on in." This was said all in a rush, and it took Lestrade a second to decipher it. 

"I prefer Bethany, but I suppose since we're going to be living with each other Beth will be fine," she answered carefully. 

"Great! Goodbye Watson. I know you're busy." 

The compudroid gave a mock hurt look and left the room. As soon as the door had shut, Deidre pulled Lestrade down onto the bed beside her and laid a fashion magazine pulled seemingly from out of nowhere onto the surprised detective's lap. 

"So, which is your favorite?" the girl asked, sounding almost suspicious. 

Beth took the magazine and stared at the two pictures before her. Both were of female models wearing glitzy—and quite likely fashionable—yet not very modest dresses. She frowned. "Neither, they're too much for my tastes. I'm a simple girl really." 

Deidre nodded in satisfaction. "Stellar! Me too! I prefer the down-to-earth looks. Like what I'm wearing now. This means we're compatible. So…what do you do for a living Beth?" 

"I mostly just network. That is I find a place where my company—confidential, sorry—isn't at, and find suitable customers. So, who does your nails," she asked, remembering an incident that occurred last year. 

After that, Deidre was her best friend for life. Bethany's best friend at any rate. 

After Watson left the room and checked on Tennyson, he decided to go downstairs and continue what he had been doing earlier; waiting for Holmes and Wiggins to return. It had been four hours since they had left, and he was really beginning to worry. Especially since the information he'd discovered could very well place Lestrade in danger. Even though the lab where her brother had died was several miles north of Blanton, it was still in California. 

Which didn't give them any more information than they had earlier. He sighed. Things were looking rather grim, and he wasn't even sure if there was even anything wrong. Perhaps Holmes was just having some sort of burn out. After all, in his own century, the detective had used cocaine as a means for coping with stress. Here in the twenty-second century there wasn't a legal equivalent, and Holmes would be too proud to let anyone know he was on the verge of a nervous break-down. 

But speculation would do no good, as Holmes always said, without facts. So they would just have to gather more information, that's all. For instance, he could see if Lestrade had returned to the states since the funeral had been moved up from the original date. But first, he needed to find Wiggins. Whatever could have happened to the boy? 

David glared at the two ruffians as they threw the young man they had been manhandling aside and came after him instead. So far his day hadn't been very productive. 

After he had settled into his room at the Inn, he had gone looking for some sort of employment. Unfortunately all the administrative facilities were closed for the day, so he'd have to wait until tomorrow morning. That was fine, he still had plenty of money. One more day wouldn't hurt. 

So he'd decided to go and get a bite to eat at the old-fashioned diner. After he'd finished, he'd inquired about any openings and received a negative response. Tomorrow it would be. Then he took a stroll about the quaint town, noting the lack of vehicles. It really was small. 

When he had come upon the park, he had heard sounds of struggle and went to investigate. Two men were messing with the young man he had seen earlier at the inn. One was tall and thin with a graying beard and mustache; the other was short, pudgy and bald. At first it seemed as if they were just teasing him, then the short one punched the kid in the gut. David, in his oh-so-infinite wisdom, had decided to intervene. 

Now he was about to get himself roughed up. 

The taller of the two lifted him up off the ground and growled, "Mind your own business." He then tossed David aside and turned back to the kid. 

David shakily stood up, but was knocked back down by Shorty. He glared at him. "I'm starting to get mad," he threatened. 

Shorty laughed and pushed him hard enough that he stumbled into a cluster of trees and fell into a pond where they couldn't see him. 

The sound of their derisive laughter and the nervous anger of the boy they were bothering fueled his own anger. And then he felt it, felt the rage start to consume him. He was changing.


	5. Five

**Sherlock Holmes and the Incredible Hulk**

Last time…  
David shakily stood up, but was knocked back down by Shorty. He glared at him. "I'm starting to get mad," he threatened.  
Shorty laughed and pushed him hard enough that he stumbled into a cluster of trees and fell into a pond where they couldn't' see him.  
The sound of their derisive laughter and the nervous anger of the boy they were bothering fueled his own anger. And then he felt it, felt the rage start to consume him. He was changing…. 

**Chapter Five**

Watson followed the DNA trail left by Holmes and Wiggins until he came upon the park that sat in the center of town. Actually it was large enough to rival Central Park in New York, and Watson was glad that he was able to use his tracer without authorization. However, according to the amount of DNA he was reading, they were probably close by, so he wouldn't have had to go very far in anyway. 

He walked until he came upon a clearing. A man was laying unconscious on the ground and Wiggins was feeling for a pulse on one of them. The boy looked up and smiled weakly when he saw the compudroid. 

"Watson! Am I glad to see you. I lost track of Mister Holmes and then I got jumped by these two…" 

"Lost track of Holmes?" Watson interrupted, confused, "But my tracer says he's here in this clearing with us…" Then he shook his head. "No matter, what happened to them?" 

Wiggins shook his head slightly. "That's weird…" he mumbled, to himself. Then, louder, "You're never gonna believe me." 

"Try me," Watson said, slightly amused. 

"Okay. These two guys had jumped me, almost right after I lost track of Holmes. At first they were just messing with me you know, calling me names and stuff. Then the taller guy grabbed my arms—I don't know how he knew I'm a fighter, because it was in a way that I couldn't get out—and the shorter one punched me in the gut. Some guy—I think I saw him earlier at the inn—came along and tried to get their attention off of me, but they pushed him into those trees." He paused and frowned. "I guess he must have run away when that creature came…hope he's all right…" 

"Wiggins," Watson admonished gently, "Please continue…" 

"Right. So anyway, this creature came from out of nowhere. It was like some kind of green muscle man, only bigger. It picked this guy up like he was a rag doll and threw him much the same way. He landed where he's at now and hasn't moved since. The other guy ran off as soon as he saw it." 

"And where is this creature now?" Watson asked, skeptically, "I suppose it just ran off when it heard me coming?" 

"Well, yeah. It did. You can see where it crashed through the trees." The boy pointed, and Watson could indeed see the damage done. 

"Oh my." 

"Yeah." Then, "Watson, you don't think one of this guy is Mister Holmes do you?" 

Watson opened his mouth to immediately deny the suggestion. It was absurd even to consider it! And yet, with the way Holmes had been acting lately….it could very well be possible. He sighed. "I don't know, Wiggins. There's only one way to find out." 

He adjusted the tracer slightly and waved his scanner over the unconscious form. Unfortunately, Wiggins' theory proved correct and Watson had to take a few minutes to compose himself before telling the boy. Whatever could Holmes have been thinking? And what did that creature Wiggins had seen have to do with it? 

Watson lifted the man up and, motioning for Wiggins to follow, set off for the inn. Whatever was going on, he was bound and determined to find out. 

Once at the inn, he had Wiggins go and fetch the others, then took Holmes to the private lobby and sat him in a chair. After checking for concussion or other forms of damage and determining that the detective was fine aside from a few bruises, he gave him a minor electric jolt. 

Holmes woke up and clasped his head. For a minute he looked disoriented—and terrified—before he caught sight of Watson. The detective broke into a grin. "Watson! How are you old chap? Eh, why am I wearing a beard?" 

Watson shook his head, keeping his features firm and disapproving. "Don't play games with me, Holmes. I know you're up to something, and I want to know what it is. You and your friend could have hurt Wiggins badly. What would Inspector Lestrade have to say?" 

Holmes frowned and scratched his chin, making the fake beard and mustache come off. "Since when do I care what Lestrade thinks? Look," he said quickly when Watson's face grew dangerously thunderous, "I am completely and utterly bored. Does that answer your question?" 

"No," Deidre said from the doorway, "It doesn't. You haven't been acting like yourself at all lately, Mister 'olmes." 

Tennyson and Wiggins, flanking her, agreed loudly. 

Holmes' eyebrow rose haughtily. "I'm afraid I really don't need the advice of children. Please do leave. Go play with your toys or something." The Irregulars looked at Holmes in hurt shock, and Watson shooed them from the room. After making sure they were gone, he turned back to the detective. "Well, now I know you aren't who you say you are. Whatever has happened, is it really worth insulting those kids? No, don't answer that. Either you let me in on it, or I will keep you confined to your room. Don't think I won't!" 

Holmes just shrugged sadly. "Nothing is really worth anything anymore. I was bored, so I decided to see what it would be like on the other side. That's all. It isn't much better than this side. What's left to live for? Love? Humanity? Meaningless drivel. Now, if you'll excuse me—unless you want your circuits fried—you will let me go. I have some thinking to do." 

Watson stood aside as Holmes brandished the weapon. It was a higher power ionizer than the ones used by New Scotland Yard, and was very dangerous. He was concerned about the detective, but pushing him into something reckless would not solve anything. He would just have to bide his time, and continue searching for information. There was no way he could believe that Holmes was 'just bored'. It just couldn't be. 

As he walked up the stairs after the detective had left, he heard a commotion outside. He ran back down and out the doors to find a crowd hovering over a body in the street. 

"Excuse me! I'm a level 7 law enforcer compudroid with medical expertise. Let me through. The crowd parted, but before he could get to the body—which had on the same clothes as Holmes—a couple of men wearing radiation suits pushed everyone back. 

"Sorry, danger of radiation poisoning. I'm afraid you're going to have to step away. This guy's already dead." 

"How do you know?" Watson challenged. _It's not Holmes. It's _not_ Holmes. It can't be Holmes._

"Because the ionizer he used to shoot him with causes death instantly. And leaks radiation like a fountain. You can see the burns on his body can't you?" 

Watson sank back. It was Holmes. 

**A/N:** Sorry again about the shortness. Don't worry…everything will make sense. Eventually. 


	6. Six

**Sherlock Holmes and the Incredible Hulk**

A/N: I would like to thank Sigerson, Pokemongirl99, Stardreams15 and Iara for reviewing. And of course everyone on the Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century Message Board for reviewing as well. I would also like to point out that I am evil. Muaha. 

**Chapter Six**

It had happened again. David scrubbed his face with his hands; exhaustion and disorientation from the transformation had taken their toll. He glanced around him and noticed that he was near the inn. Thank goodness for small favors. He could sneak into his room since the bathroom window was close to the ground on this side. 

Quietly he made his way towards the building, checking around him often to see if anyone was watching. While it wasn't unnatural for someone to be walking around without a shirt in the middle of summer, he knew that that boy was staying here and might have told someone about his encounter. If the boy was all right. 

For an uncertain minute David fought his guilty conscience, but only for a minute. He had to believe that the creature, being a part of him, had his ideals—if not his intelligence—and would never hurt anyone that had done him no harm. Or kill. 

As he reached the window, he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled himself inside. Good thing he had unlocked it earlier. He'd hate to have to pay for a broken plex-glass window. They were expensive. He grabbed some clothes from his bag and changed just as his stomach started growling. 

That was another side effect of the transformation. The energy depletion left him not only worn, but ravenous as well. If he couldn't find a way to cure the mutation—or control his anger—he'd be spending more money on food than on anything else. 

With a wry grin he left his room and made his way down to the inn's main lobby. 

A commotion outside caught his attention, and he decided to investigate. If there was some kind of angry mob gathering and trying to go after a big green monster, he needed to know. He walked outside and stood beside a couple of people who were pointing at a body in the middle of the street. 

With a start, he realized that it was one of the two men that had attacked him and that boy earlier. Was this a result of the creature? He took a couple of steps forward to get a closer look. There were bruises, but there were also radiation burns across the man's face. David frowned. They looked odd somehow, almost as if they had been placed deliberately. 

"What happened?" He asked one of the people nearest him. 

"Idiot shot himself with an ionizer. Didn't know anyone here in the states had that kind." 

"What do you mean?" 

The guy shrugged. "Well, it looks like a Mark15 plasma rifle at first glance, but the shot was too low powered. At least from what I saw. Like the sort they use for the law enforcement over in Great Britain." 

David nodded. He stepped a little further forward and was about to kneel by the man's side to take a pulse when a commanding voice rang out. 

"Excuse me! I'm a level 7 law enforcer compudroid with medical expertise. Please let me through!" 

David, along with everyone else moved aside to let the robot in. To his surprise the thing had an elastomask on. It looked like the face of a slightly chubby Victorian gentleman. Most compudroids wouldn't speak out of turn unless a violation had been committed, much less wear a face that made them look more human. 

Then, before the 'droid was able to get to the body, David was pushed back by a couple of people wearing radiation suits. His frown grew deeper. Despite the radiation burns, there was no danger of residual poisoning. That was the beauty of the Mark15. And from the guy he had spoken to, that may not have even been the weapon used. 

"Sorry, danger of radiation poisoning. I'm afraid you're going to have to step away. This guy's already dead." 

Now David knew something was up. How in the world could these two men who had just arrived know that? 

"How do you know?" the compudroid challenged. David silently cheered it. 

"Because the ionizer he used to shoot him with causes death instantly. And leaks radiation like a fountain. You can see the burns on his body can't you?" 

David kept his counsel, but the lie grated on him. The Mark15 only caused minor burns, and only very rarely caused death. While it did have some radioactivity, it was slight enough that once it had been fired, the only danger was to the person hit with the beam. Of course, at so close a range, it was possible that it had caused instant death, but David didn't think so. The compudroid's elastomask face twisted into an expression of dismay and agony, and David—despite knowing that it was only a simulation of human emotion—felt compassion. 

"Actually," he began, intent on letting the two know that he wasn't ignorant, "The Mark15…" 

"Quiet! Get out of our way!" The two men again shoved past him, this time carrying the body of the man between them. David fell back with the crowd, glaring after them, then walked over to the distraught robot. 

"They were lying," he said softly, so only the compudroid's audio sensors would pick it up. 

"When you say, lying, d'you think that means the man could still be alive?" the compudroid asked. 

David shrugged. "Possibly. I was going to check his pulse when you came along. And then those two came in…well you get the picture." 

It looked at him, hope and confusion warring on its face. "Well, in that case perhaps we should go inside and have a little talk?" 

David nodded. He really shouldn't get involved, not when any confrontation seemed to trigger the rage that triggered his transformation. But there was some insidious plot going on here, and he had never been one to turn down a challenge. 

Beth watched as Deidre paced the room, cursing fluently in languages she hadn't known the girl knew. She wasn't quite sure what it was all about, but decided that it was something about Holmes. Great. What had the detective gone and done now? 

As she stood up to place a calming hand on the girl's shoulder—and to try and get her to explain more slowly what was going on—the door came open and Wiggins and Tennyson came in, their expressions ranging from hurt to anger to shock and back to anger again. 

They caught sight of her and glanced at Deidre uncertainly. Beth smiled. "Hey, don't worry about me. Name's…oh fine. I'm Inspector Lestrade. Now what's going on?" 

"Inspector?" Wiggins said uncertainly, "You don't look…" he choked as she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him. "Uh, right. You're definitely Inspector Lestrade." 

This brought forth giggles from Deidre, and had the desired effect of calming the girl down. "I knew it! You look better as a blonde…" 

"Definitely," Tennyson agreed with a cheeky grin. 

"Yeah, well since I did the old-fashioned thing and bleached it, you all get to see me as a blonde for a while. Now. What's going on with Holmes? I got from Watson was willing to tell Bethany Ross that he's in some kind of trouble. And with the way you three are acting it's worse than I thought." She placed her hands on her hips and stared at each one of them until they looked away. 

"Well," Wiggins said, "It all began when…" 

When he had finished telling the whole story Lestrade sighed and dropped her head into her hands. "Okay. I have four possibilities for you. One: He's having a nervous breakdown, in which case we really need to keep a close eye on him. Two: Whatever case he's on is super dangerous, but he still wants you guys to know that something's up. Three: He's under mind control. Four: It's an imposter." 

"Well, it couldn't be four," Wiggins said, "Because Watson checked him out, and his DNA was the same." 

Lestrade nodded. "Well, that leaves the other three for us to work with then, doesn't it?" 

"Right," Tennyson agreed, "We'll wait until Holmes goes to sleep and then tell Watson. Why are you here in disguise anyway?" 

Lestrade shrugged. "I was following somebody. But it isn't as important right now as this." She was going to give David a chance to tell her what was going on with him, himself, and while she knew she could trust the kids, he wouldn't. Not if he thought the information might hurt them somehow. "Okay, that's a great plan Tennyson. Did you find anything out about that robbery case?" 

The boy beeped a negative. "It's classified. It's gonna take me some time to….get permission." 

Everyone grinned, despite the circumstances.


End file.
